Harsh Language
by Sakura123
Summary: Lincoln attempts to rationalize fallout between himself and Michael  3x08: "Bag and Burn" . AU in chapter III.
1. Crushcrushcrush

_**Harsh Language**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Title: Harsh Language**

**Summary:** Lincoln attempts to rationalize fallout between himself and Michael (3x08: "Bag and Burn").

**Author: Sakura123** (weber_dubois22)

**Rating: T**

**Characters:** Lincoln Burrows, Michael Scofield, Veronica Donovan, Fernando Sucre

**Chapters:** 1/3

**Written: 10/1/2010**

**Completed: 10/1/2010**

**Disclaimer**: _Prison Break_ and all things related are property of 20th Century Fox Television and Paul Scheuring; "Blue" lyrics are property of A Perfect Circle. I own nothing save [the] original characters.

**Authors Note: **I'm currently in the midst of a "Prison Break Marathon", completely amazed how great this show is (Well, Season Uno and Season Dos anyways. S3 is absolute "Meh" outside of Lincoln's subplot. I fear the same for S4/FB). The story below was written five hours after watching the first couple minutes of the S3 episode _"Bag and Burn"_. I was pretty unhappy to hear Michael throw his brother into the same league as the people who ruined his life and while Michael is presently not in my good graces, I can understand his anger toward his brother's decision withhold the truth and assume his concern for Sara outweighed his concern for L.J. (I thought the same thing, honestly). I just sympathize with Lincoln's side of things more.

* * *

"_Close my eyes just to look at you_

_Taken by the seamless vision_

_I close my eyes,_

_Ignore the smoke,_

_Ignore the smoke, ignore the smoke." - _"Blue" (A Perfect Circle)

* * *

**I. Crushcrushcrush**

**

* * *

**

When Lincoln arrived at the visitor's gate for Sona he was shaking. His hands trembled when the guard called for Michael and it was all he could do to keep from pulling on the railing when he gripped it. The utter devastation on Michael's face, L.J.'s tears and the bloody box containing Sara's head flashed rapidly in his mind like pistons in overdrive. He suddenly wished he could hit the Susan bitch again, knock her straight on her patronizing ass. This was her doing. All of this was her fault.

The large doors of the prison opened, Lincoln watched as his brother stepped through the doorway and took his time to reach the end of the path. He seemed more exhausted than when he saw him last, the confidence was gone from his gait, his eyes remained downcast. When Michael finally reached the chain fence he kept a good distance between them; Lincoln braced himself for the tide of anger and judgment that he was sure to receive.

There was no coming back from this moment. "She's dead Michael," His very words repeated in his head, a mantra louder than his own heartbeat.

The difference between him and Michael were their reactions to the inevitable event known as death. They'd experienced it enough know the knowledge of a loved one's passing could break a man in every way it saw fit. Where Lincoln learned to swallow his grief, suffocate it, until it inadvertently became a force to be used against others (or himself, if his history taught him anything), Michael showed no qualms with revealing his pain. It was a process he had to go through before finally regressing into himself to over analyze what he could've done to prevent the tragedy.

Watching the shadows on his little brother's face, Lincoln saw the rage and forbearance of a man defeated by his ordeals, one who was running on fumes. For who, Lincoln didn't know, but he suspected it was all for Sara. Sara was what was drove him to survive, he was sure of it now.


	2. The Stranger

**II. The Stranger**

**

* * *

**

"You used me Linc," Michael's words, too calm and alien to his ears, rendered all of his excuses, all his reasons moot in less than a second. But what truly cut him to the quick was being thrown into the same league with the very organization that ruined his life and tried to end it in the process. "Looks like you and the company have something in common." He felt his face go numb with disbelief before the passive-aggressive mask that was Michael Scofield.

Anger and distress ripped through his chest, combating each other for superiority over his immediate response to such an statement. He wanted to snap, scream and defend himself against Michael's presumptions, but he couldn't find it in him to unlock his jaw to do so.

That, and he remembered the slightest show of aggression would earn him an bullet in the head from the tower guards.

He couldn't blame his brother for feeling like he did, but that didn't mean he had to accept it on the chin like a child being scolded. The death of Sara and the fear of loosing his son in the same way he lost everyone else to this goddamned situation, kept him from revealing the truth to the one he person he trusted without hesitation. He was scared shitless by the unapologetic promise that Susan B. Anthony would do to L.J. what she did to Sara. The dread that Michael's affection for Sara trumped his obligation to his nephew (because his every mention of his son always felt like an afterthought to Lincoln) was not a reality he wanted to face if he had confessed the day after he found the box.

Before the entire conversation began, Lincoln never doubted Sara was the only thing keeping Michael going in that decrepit pit, he appreciated that much. But, L.J. was and always would be Lincoln's top priority and if lying to his little brother about his girlfriend's demise ensured his son's survival, he would lie all over again in a heartbeat. If he could control the outcome of the situation, he would take out Michael's "no pictures, no escape" ultimatum altogether.

Now, however, the knowledge that Michael's stance on his nephew had not changed in the least since this entire ordeal began, twisted the knife of his guilt even deeper into his heart. There was no point in wishing he could do it all over again; He had no illusions that if their places were reversed, Michael would do the same as he did. At least, that's he kept telling himself.

Watching Michael retreat back to the prison, Lincoln felt his insides thawing and body tremble. Things were different now. There was no taking back what was done and he had to live with that. "Don't do anything stupid, Michael," Lincoln whispered as Sona's gates closed.


	3. Internalization

**III. Internalization**

**

* * *

**

"You can't beat yourself up about this, Linc. There was nothing you could've done."

"Yes, there was. I could've told him the truth."

"You could've, but the outcome would be no different. Michael would've eventually found a way to put this on you and you would bear it like a cross like you always do."

"And he would be right to!" Lincoln stopped pacing and turned to the woman on the couch. "If I'd been quicker - if I had been faster about figuring out what she meant-"

"She still would've lost her head. It's like saying if she hadn't tipped them off with her shoe, L.J. would be with you and she would still be alive," She interrupted. "Who's to say? You can't predict the outcome of a situation like this. They're unpredictable by nature."

Lincoln averted his gaze toward the window and scanned the horizon as if seeking answers from above.

"What happened to Sara Tancredi wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," He growled stubbornly. "All of this is my fault. Everything."

"Then Michael should take some of the blame as well if your that persistent," She snapped. "He panicked and told you to go looking for them because he didn't think the escape plan would work. His fear led to the situation we're in now."

Lincoln said nothing to this. He kept his forehead pressed against the glass as he tried to get his head together. "Lincoln, your brother still loves you, he just needs to time to get over this," She said. "He'll understand the why soon enough."

Lincoln shook his head. "Doesn't matter. He's never gonna trust me again, Vee. Not like he did anyway," He turned to face petite brunette on the couch. Veronica ran her fingers through her pixie hair cut in resignation at the defeat in her boyfriend's tone. "I wouldn't blame him for it, either. I botched this entire thing. I almost lost my son several times and got Sara killed." He moved away from the window and sat next to her on the couch. Her hand rubbed his back in a vain attempt to comfort him. "All of this is on me."

"Papi?"

Lincoln averted his gaze from the ground to find Sucre closing the apartment door behind him, a tentative look in his eyes. He seemed too afraid to say anything, but he knew he would say it anyway. "How'd it go with Michael?" He inquired.

Lincoln felt the muscle in his left cheek twitch and eyebrows narrow. "How do you think it went, Sucre?" His response was terse and had him pacing across the room again. Sucre blinked, a little taken aback. He shared a look with Veronica who raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, well, is he still gonna go through with the plan?" Sucre asked. Lincoln stopped pacing long enough to meet Sucre's troubled gaze. "I dunno, I hope so, Sucre."

* * *

**Authors Note:** If you're puzzling over the presence of Veronica Donovan, don't trouble yourself. It's more or less because I wanted her alive and was trying out her voice in my head.


End file.
